Sabotage
by Allison Lindsay
Summary: Jay reminds Alex of the villain in comic books: ubiquitous, indefatigable. But not unstoppable. Sans spandex unitard and funky red cape, Alex steps into the role of superhero and sets out to repair the havoc Jay has wreaked on her relationship with Paige.
1. Gross Encounters

Title: "Sabotage"

Author: Allison Lindsay

Rating: M ('cause I'm cautious like that)

Pairing: Palex - or, as I've dubbed them, Plexi - **femslash**

Disclaimer: I would own _Degrassi_ if I could, but I can't, so I don't.

_This fic is set in season five, post-"The Lexicon of Love," pre-"High Fidelity."_

**Chapter One**

Alex Nuñez emerges from her bedroom in a state of sheer frenzy, a slew of curses emanating from her lips. She has exactly fourteen minutes and eleven seconds before the Queen of Degrassi arrives. And Paige Michalchuk is not one to be kept waiting.

Dreading a lengthy lecture on punctuality, the raven-haired beauty scurries into the living room, en route to the bathroom. The pungent odor of alcohol permeates the air molecules, eliciting a cringe of disgust from Alex. No sooner has the girl gone five paces than her bare feet collide with a depleted can of beer. "Fuck!" Alex hisses, latching on to the arm of the couch to prevent a tumble to the faded, un-vacuumed carpet.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Am I gonna have to wash out that potty mouth of yours with a bar of soap?"

Steadying herself, Alex turns to see Jay Hogart standing beside the refrigerator, his signature smarmy smirk firmly in place.

The boy is beginning to exhibit the characteristics of the standard comic book villain – lurking around every corner, materializing at the most inopportune moments.

"Who invited you?" Alex would like to know.

Jay gestures to the floor in front of the sofa, where a shirtless Chad lies prone in a drunken stupor. "He did."

Alex has not yet decided which of the men – and she employs the term loosely – is the more repulsive of the two. At the moment, Jay is the reigning champion.

Making no effort to conceal her indignation, Alex folds her arms across her chest and shifts her weight to her right hip. Her eyes propel daggers at the cocky, conniving teenager before her. "Well, isn't that nice. There's a carcass on my carpet _and_ a ginormous cockroach in my kitchen. You wouldn't happen to have the number for pest control, would you, Jay?"

The boy's stoic eyes skim over Alex's pajama-clad frame. "Cranky, cranky, cranky. You really know how to get my motor running, Lex," Jay remarks, punctuating the jibe with a lascivious leer.

Alex is tempted to reach for the nearest blunt object and hurl it in Jay's direction. If she is fortunate and her aim is accurate, there will soon be two unconscious bodies sprawled on the floor.

"Tell me, Jay, is Chad the only no-life sleaze on this planet who can tolerate your upchuck-inducing presence? Don't you have friends your own age?"

"I did . . . but they dumped me. Like you."

Jay approaches his ex-girlfriend, extending a hand towards her arm. Alex recoils in disgust, jerking the appendage out of his reach. "Touch me and you leave here with five less fingers than you started with."

A faint sigh of resignation escapes his lips, and the unwanted guest takes two steps backwards. "I just miss you, Lex." Jay's sentimental professions are sporadic, to say the least, and although Alex detects sincerity in his voice, she remains unmoved. She opens her mouth to remind Jay of his bouts of infidelity and failure to appreciate her, but then reconsiders. Alex has no time to bicker with him now; Paige's arrival is fast-approaching.

"Exit's that way. You can get out the same way you got in." The reminder is accompanied by a freshly-lacquered fingernail pointing towards the front door.

Risking the amputation of half of his digits, Jay reaches for Alex's other hand. "Your girlfriend giving you pedicures now? How very precious."

"Manicures," Alex corrects him, extracting her hand from Jay's grasp and rephrasing her instructions. "Visiting hours are over. You need to leave, Jay. _Now_."

"Okay, okay, I'm going, relax," he capitulates, shuffling towards the peeling, off-white paint of the exit-cum-entrance.

Paige is fifteen feet from the apartment when its sole sober resident turns the doorknob and ushers Jay out into the hallway. The blonde struts towards her destination, the threadbare carpeting muffling the clacking sound of her chunky heels. As she approaches the domicile, Paige is all smiles and giddiness. That is, until she hears Alex's voice.

"Oh, by the way, Casanova, your fly is open. Don't be too careful zipping it up."

Paige peeks around the corner. _Jay? What the hell is Jay doing here? _A rather unpleasant scenario begins to manifest itself in her mind. "Eww, eww, eww," she mutters, clenching her eyes shut and shaking her head vigorously in an attempt to dislodge the disgrossting images destined to plague her in slumber.

When she raises her lids a moment later, the figure of the ginormous cockroach assaults her retinas. Jay has been studying Paige, the personification of perfection in the eyes of his former girlfriend. As he observed the oblivious young woman, his contempt for the perky, popular blonde began to escalate. Paige has supplanted Jay as the object of Alex's affection, while he has been demoted to the object of her rejection.

"Well, hello there, Miss Michalchuk," Jay addresses the visitor in a patronizing tone. "Come to call on Lexi, have you?"

The menace's proximity is much too close for Paige's comfort. "What were you doing with Alex?"

"What is this, the Russian Inquisition?" Jay quips, unfazed by the gelid glare in her azure irises.

"I'm Ukrainian, dorkus."

"Hey, now. Is that any way to treat the guy who just performed a modern miracle?"

The blonde's nose crinkles in confusion. "What are you talking about? Ugh. You know what? I don't even care. Just go away before you contaminate me with your ickiness."

But Jay does not take direction well. "You'll be happy – or unhappy, really – to know that Lexi has been cured." As he is talking, he removes a package of cigarettes from his jacket pocket, plucking one from the box and lighting it.

"Cured." His companion repeats the word as though it is foreign to her.

The nuisance exhales a cloud of blue-gray smoke. Paige coughs, pinching the bridge of her nose to prevent another carcinogenic invasion of her respiratory system.

"Mmm-hmm," Jay responds. "Of her lesbianism. As it turns out, she was just doing some experimenting. Dabbling in dykedom, if you will. It was just a temporary condition. You know, I never knew my, uh . . . phallus possessed healing powers. It was quite an epiphany."

Paige stares vacantly at the self-professed miracle worker with the magic member. She feels as though she has literally been struck dumb. "Okay, I just lost brain cells listening to you spew that garbage."

"What, you don't think I'm smoking for the good of my health, do you? It's what people do after sex . . . of the mind-blowing, earth-moving variety, anyway."

"You're lying." The assertion is uttered with the utmost of confidence. "Alex would never go back to you after being with moi. She only associates with human beings now, hun. You know, those two-legged life forms with brains and opposable thumbs. Now, if you'll excuse me, my lady awaits."

Placing her palm against Jay's chest, she shoves the teenager aside. _Alex would be proud_, she thinks, the smile slowly returning to her shimmery-pink lips. And with that, Paige makes a much-anticipated escape from Degrassi's resident mischievous-maker.


	2. The Accused

Disclaimer: I do not own Paige, Jay, or Chad. Alex, on the other hand . . . Wow, yum, and hot damn. Um, where was I going with this again? Oh, yes: you-know-what does not belong to you-know-who.

**Chapter Two**

While Paige has been fending off Jay, Alex has spent the time since the boy's dismissal doing all she can to remove the inebriated Chad from the living room. "Damn it!" she shrieks. "Get up!"

In a fit of fury, the brunette swings her leg back, preparing to inflict bodily harm on her mother's (in)significant other. Just as her foot is about to make contact with Chad's ribs, sanity prevails. In the off-chance that she succeeds in rousing him, Alex may find her face on the receiving end of a closed-fisted punch. Briefly, she contemplates dragging him into the bedroom, but decides that it is worth neither the effort nor the energy. Backing away from the inert figure, the brunette takes several deep breaths in an attempt to regain her composure.

"Knock, knock!" Paige calls, simultaneously announcing her arrival and rapping on the door with her knuckles.

Alex runs her fingers through her tousled locks, hoping to revitalize her jet-black mane into some semblance of a hairstyle. "Who's there?" she croons.

Paige adores this side of her girlfriend - the playful, endearing facet of her personality to which only she is exposed. Suppressing a giggle, the effervescent blonde answers coyly, "Alex."

"Paige, I hate to tell you this, but, um, I think you have yourself confused with someone else: me. Next time we make out, we should probably come up for air once in a while. We wanna make sure your brain is getting enough oxygen."

"I am not oxygen-deprived, hun. And you're the one who started this little greeting game, not me, so why don't you just play along, okay?" It is an instruction, not a suggestion.

"Yes, your majesty. Alex who?"

"Alex better open up this door if she knows what's good for her."

"So nice to see you again, Alex," the dark-haired girl teases her guest, the corners of her lips curled into a grin.

Paige steps inside, revealing an outfit that is casual yet fashionable. She wears an off-the-shoulder, apricot-colored sweater, hip-hugging denims, and a shiny new pair of black boots. Next to Alex, who is clad in a wrinkled white tank top and low-slung, navy-blue boxers, Paige is ready to flounce down the runway.

"You're still in your PJs," the fashion-conscious member of the duo observes.

"Yeah, I know. I'm sor-"

Her apology is interrupted by an obnoxious grunt. The couple turns to see the recently-roused Chad struggling to stand erect.

"Oh, look, the dead have risen. Who'd'a thunk there'd be a resurrection right here in my very own living room." Paige understands that the flippant remark is Alex's attempt at concealing the humiliation she is experiencing, and she places a consoling hand on the small of her girlfriend's back.

"Heh?" Despite impaired vision, Chad manages to ascertain that there are two figures standing several feet in front of him.

Reluctantly, Emily's daughter re-introduces the two. "Um, Chad, you remember Paige." _You know, the girl who witnessed one of your many drunken outbursts and watched in horror as you nearly knocked me unconscious._

Paige bites her lip, indicating her discomfort. "Oh, yeah, the blonde chick," Chad recalls. Seconds after this recollection, however, he promptly disregards the girl's existence. As he surveys his immediate surroundings, it occurs to Chad that something – or someone - is missing. "Where'd he go?" the intoxicated male queries.

"Jay? Oh, he had to leave. He's scheduled to knock over a convenience store, and he didn't wanna be late. Jay's very anal about punctuality."

Paige can't help herself; a snicker escapes her lips. The sound helps to mollify Alex somewhat, instilling in the girl the courage to look her companion in the eye.

"Heh?" Chad reiterates. Glancing down, he is suddenly made aware of his half-naked state. "Where's my shirt? Have you seen my shirt? Aw, to hell with it. I'll just go and steal one off of somebody else's back," the vile creature guffaws, the din of a wheezing oxygen tank puncturing the air. "Anyway, hey, it's good to hear you and Jay are back together again."

Alex's chocolate-brown orbs do a three-sixty. She can conceive of no valid reason to amend Chad's error. Expunging all thoughts of the detested individuals from her mind, she chooses instead to focus on the young woman at her side. "Come on," Alex whispers. Her fingers close around the blonde's wrist, and she leads her into the bedroom, shutting and locking the door.

But when she attempts to kiss Paige, the golden-haired girl rebuffs her advances, the response reminiscent of the way in which Alex reacted when Jay had initiated physical contact. "What's wrong?" Brows knitted together in befuddlement, Alex scrutinizes her girlfriend's expression. It is indecipherable.

"What were you doing between the time school ended and now?" her companion demands, crossing her arms over the fuzzy material of her sweater.

"Sleeping . . ." Alex admits, taken aback by the accusatory inflection in Paige's voice.

"With Jay?"

"With myself! Paige, it's called a _nap_. I . . . You're not seriously taking the word of that beer-guzzling bum over mine?"

"Well, you're not exactly known for your honesty, Alex," Paige points out, and before the girl can reply in rebuttal, she continues, "And, FYI, Casanova also confirmed the reconciliation."

"Casanova confirmed the . . . Wait, you actually spoke to him? I had no idea the two of you were such good pals. And speaking of liars-"

"_Look_ at yourself, Alex," Paige interjects once more. "All . . . bedraggled and disheveled. I believe that's what's known as the just-fucked look."

Alex stifles the scream of frustration that is creeping up her larynx. On the tip of her tongue dangles a string of unflattering adjectives – obstinate, ornery, delirious, ridiculously unreasonable. But she knows that bombarding Paige with those words will only exacerbate the situation. In fact, anything Alex says will likely enter in one ear and exit through the other.

Nevertheless, she doesn't surrender. "Paige," the accused tries again, keeping her voice calm and level, "Just let me explain, okay? I did not invite Jay over here. Jay invited himself. Or Chad did. Whatever. The point is - _I_ didn't. In fact, I had no idea he was even here until I woke up and-"

But it is a lost cause. Paige remains unwavering in her conviction of Alex's disloyalty. "Well, wake up to the break-up, hun. We're through." Blinking back the tears that are perilously close to cascading down her cheeks, she adds in a barely audible murmur, "I just can't believe you would do this to me."

The recipient of the allegations finds that she is bereft of words. The absence of an immediate reply prompts Paige's departure.

Alex swallows past the nascent lump in her throat. At her feet lie scattered the detritus of her heart, like shards of broken glass.


	3. Operation Salvage Palex

Disclaimer: Victory! _Degrassi_ is mine at last! _pinches forearm_ Ouch! Aw, man, it was just a dream. Carry on . . .

**Chapter Three**

At precisely a quarter to noon, when the bell signaling the beginning of lunch period rings, Operation: Salvage Palex, as Marco Del Rossi has christened the couple, will go into effect.

Alex has invested several hours in the formulation of this stratagem, and it has undergone numerous revisions. Early drafts envisioned a single goal: the extermination of a certain loathsome, incorrigible, scruffy-faced eighteen-year-old. After much contemplation, however, Alex ultimately concluded that the boy would prove more useful to her breathing than extinct.

Jay, alias Captain Asshole, is many things, chief among them ubiquitous, indefatigable, and irritating as all hell. But he is not unstoppable. Sans spandex unitard and funky red cape, Alex will play superheroine to Jay's villain. She will save the day, repairing the havoc that the enemy has wreaked on her relationship with Paige.

The architect is quite satisfied with the final draft of the plan. She perceives it in this way: what it lacks in intricacy, it makes up for in simplicity. And that, the strategist has assessed, is the genius of it.

Alex the Avenger embarks on her mission fueled by an intrepid, unshakable determination. She has no intentions of relinquishing Paige without a tooth-and-nail fight.

First, the teenager must lure her target away from bloodthirsty students and pacifist teachers, lest the senior earn yet another demerit on her less-than-spotless behavioral record.

The instant she spots her prey, the predator's lips curve into a smirk similar to the one sported by Lucifer the feline in _Cinderella_. "He doesn't have a prayer in hell," she asserts, sauntering over to the vending machine before which Jay is loitering, no doubt pondering which provisions to pilfer.

"Hey," Alex greets the thief, her tone saccharin-sweet.

"Lexi! To what do I owe this immense pleasure?"

"Can we talk – privately?" his ex-girlfriend requests, tucking her hands into her pockets and feigning a demure demeanor.

Without a hint of hesitation or suspicion, the boy agrees. _Damn, I'm good_, the brunette boasts inwardly, crediting her acting chops and stint as a thespian in Liberty Van Zandt's adaptation of _Dracula_ the previous year. Who knew that participating in extracurricular activities would actually work to her advantage?

Alex tolerates Jay's arm dangling across her shoulders as she leads the unsuspecting victim outside and into the desolate laneway. _Perfect. No witnesses._

"What's on your mind, Lex?" the young man inquires, removing the limb from her person.

"I just thought you'd like to know that Paige and I aren't together anymore."

"Oh. So sorry to hear that . . . I guess that means you're available then?"

Alex barely masks her chagrin at Jay's refusal to acknowledge his culpability, or, at the very least, to put forth a more convincing effort at empathy. "Yeah. I'm free. And you were right. Paige and I were just too different. Didn't take very long for the novelty of dating trailer trash to wear off. She realized what you knew all along, that she was too good for me."

"Well, you live and learn, right?" Alex wonders, for the billionth time, what in the world ever attracted her to Jason Hogart. "You're meant to be with me, Lex, you know that." A calloused palm reaches up and lightly grazes the side of her face. "So, what do you say? Are we an us again?"

The unwelcome touch is just the impetus the girl needs. Four fingers furling into a fist, Alex resembles a baseball player winding up for a pitch. Without warning, she aims straight for Jay's lower jaw. An audible _crack_ coincides with the contact.

No longer positioned vertically, Jay gazes up at his attacker, his breathing ragged and his eyes a fusion of fire and ice. Sanguine-colored fluid trickles from the corner of the victim's mouth, and he flexes the injured mandible to ensure that it remains intact.

"Told you I like to punch."

Alex is glowing, beaming. Captain Asshole – zilch, Alex the Avenger – uno.

But the rhapsodic sensation is fleeting. Within seconds, the physical attack segues into a verbal affront.

"Where the hell do you get off trying to sabotage my relationship with Paige? Because of you and your bullshit, she broke up with me."

"Lex-"

"Shut it!" Alex snaps, revoking Jay's speaking privileges. "If you ever cared about me at all, you will fix this. No. On second thought, you don't have a choice. You will fix this no matter what. You will tell her that you were just doing what you do best – lying. If you don't, I guarantee you that I will break all the rest of the bones in your body – starting with your face and working my way down."


	4. Perfectly Preposterous

Disclaimer: You'd think by now I would've acquired ownership rights to my beloved _Degrassi_, but alas, such is not the case. _sighs melodramatically_

**Chapter Four**

Paige heaves a dejected sigh, winding a wad of spaghetti around the tines of her fork. She has just relayed the previous evening's events to her closest male friend and confidante.

"Do you want to hear what brilliant words of comfort Hazel had to offer? 'I could've told you you were wasting your time with her'."

Marco takes a bite of his granny smith apple, shaking his head in dismay. "She _did_ tell you that."

"Yeah, I took the liberty of bringing that to her attention. Then she proceeds to inform me that I am much better off without her, which is perfectly preposterous, _and_ that I should really look on the sunny side because our break-up is irrefutable evidence that this whole 'lesbian thing' was just a passing fancy. As if the demise of our relationship is cause for celebration."

"You should've come to me first," Marco scolds, only half in jest.

"You should've been available first," the blonde retorts, eyes defying him to concoct a credible rejoinder.

"How could I not have seen that coming . . .?" her friend murmurs, mentally chastising his lack of foresight. The boy punctuates the spirit-lifting attempt with a lopsided grin. The effort is in vain.

"_Anyway_," Paige continues, "I suggested that Hazel take the homophobia down a notch, and then I charged down the hallway in a fit of righteous anger."

Marco snickers as he envisages the incident. "Classic Paige," he comments. "Sounds like one of your finer drama queen moments."

"I am so not a drama queen!" Paige huffs. Leaning across the table, she smacks the boy's upper arm. Marco grips the appendage, pretending to be mortally wounded. "You know," his companion goes on, apathetic to his pain, "we really need to enlighten the unenlightened masses and set the record straight – no pun intended, of course."

"Of course."

A contented silence descends, as the two ruminate over the break-up. After disclosing the story a second time, Paige is starting to realize just how implausible it is.

Absentmindedly, her rose-tinted nails begin to scrape the textured plastic surface of her tray, and soon the teenager discovers that she is sketching the lines and curves that form Alex's name. The blonde's self-assured comments to Jay reverberate inside her head. _You're lying. Alex would never go back to you after being with moi._

Paige is plagued with remorse and doubt.

And guilt.

The triad of emotions has been gnawing at her intestines since the previous night, and efforts to ameliorate any or all of them have proved futile. Initially, she indulged in denial, adamantly defending the position in which Alex assumes full responsibility for the disintegration of their coupledom.Subsequently, Paige invoked the we-just-weren't-meant-to-be cliché, but regardless of how many times she incanted the words, they failed to remedy her fractured heart. By the time she surrendered to slumber, her bedroom floor was littered with crinkled pink tissues, each one having absorbed a rivulet of tears.

Marco studies Paige. Her expression conveys desperation and expectance, as though she is waiting for him to impart nuggets of wisdom. Her consort clears his throat, indicating that he is about to speak. Marco knows he must phrase his interpretation of the situation very carefully; otherwise, Paige will dismiss his observations with a roll of her eyes and a flutter of her hand. "Paige, I think . . . I think that maybe you were looking for an easy out," he begins, pausing briefly for the impending interruption. But the normally chatty girl remains mute, much to the boy's amazement.

"I think you're really starting . . . I think you _have_ fallen for Alex – hard," Marco elucidates. "And that freaks you out. Not because she's a girl; you've gotten past that. But because it's your senior year, and you've got a lot on your plate, like Banting and . . . Banting. And maybe you just feel like you can't deal with a relationship right now and it's easier to end it before it gets even more intense than it already has."

**_You_ **_freak me out, Marco_, Paige thinks, a visible shudder wracking her frame. It is the exact same conclusion at which she has arrived, albeit begrudgingly.

Marco continues, "And I think that just because you don't know the course that a relationship will take isn't exactly a justifiable reason to end it. If you want my humble opinion, which you implied that you did, this is the most normal, stable, promising relationship you've ever been in. And I believe it was you who said that Paige without Alex is 'perfectly preposterous'. So-"

"So, in conclusion," the distraught blonde interjects, "I pretty much knew all along that she didn't cheat on me. And I shouldn't squander away a totally good relationship just because I don't know for sure how Alex fits into my future plans . . . plans that I made eons ago . . . and which aren't exactly set in stone . . ."

"I couldn't have said it better myself. Although, had I not said anything at all, you would never have come to your senses. Am I or am I not undeniably indispensable?"

Sitting back against his chair, Marco folds his denim-encased arms over his thorax and waits patiently for the forthcoming accolades. Paige murmurs something unintelligible, and at the boy's smug chortle, she grumbles, "Don't gloat. It's extremely unattractive."

Her companion is perched to proffer more words of wisdom when Hazel Aden approaches their table. Marco acknowledges the teenager, but Paige merely arches a tweezed eyebrow before returning her attention to the half-consumed dish of pasta.

"I know our friendship is on hiatus right now, but guess who's coming to lunch? Alex and the loser formerly known as Alex's boyfriend. And, if my navigational skills are on target, I believe they're heading this way."

Paige peers past Hazel's shoulder to see two familiar figures advancing in their direction. Captain Asshole is trudging along, his sneakers squeaking against the linoleum. Attached to him at the arm is Alex the Avenger. She is likely constricting his circulation, Paige surmises when the two are standing in front of them, noting the absence of pigmentation in the girl's knuckles.

The blonde motions to Jay's bruised and bloodied chin. "Get in a little physical altercation, did you?" she taunts.

"Jay here has something he would like to say to you, Paige," the brunette with the vice grip announces. To the young man at her side, she sneers, "It's sharing time . . . hun." Alex sneaks a clandestine peak at Paige but is unable to determine whether she has detected her usage of the cheerleader's trademark truncated term of endearment.

Four pairs of ears stand at attention, waiting with bated breath for the bane of Palex's existence to make his confession. "I lied," he snarls, but only after a forceful shove of encouragement from his former girlfriend.

Although the admission is nearly imperceptible, Paige hears him loud and clear, as though he were bellowing the proclamation from the rooftop of Degrassi Community School. _I know, _is the girl's immediate concession. But Jay deserves to suffer. "Enunciate, _hun_. I didn't quite catch that." In her enjoyment of his humiliation, Paige neglects to display the appropriate amount of shock – mouth slightly ajar, eyes expansive in diameter.

"You heard me," Jay growls, cheeks aflame. At that, Alex uses her free hand to pinch the boy's forearm through the cotton fabric of his long-sleeved black shirt. The injury registers a seven point three on the soreness scale.

Marco, Hazel, and Paige purse their lips together, squelching giggles of amusement. To indicate that she has, in fact, heard exactly what Jay has confessed, the blonde member of the trio shoots a surreptitious wink at the torturess. In an instant, the feeling of rapture that Alex had experienced directly after punching Jay's lights out is replenished.

"I said . . . I lied," the obstreperous teenager reiterates, seething with animosity as he wrenches his arm from Alex's grasp. To the raven-haired girl, he quips, "There. I fixed what was broken. All's right with the world again."

As the menace turns to leave, Paige's tablemate prepares to do the same. "I really don't think they want us around when they make out – I mean, make up," Marco remarks, smiling at Paige as he picks up his tray and crosses to the exit, Hazel in tow.

The instant Alex slides into the chair that Marco has just vacated, Paige launches into a much-deserved apology. "I am _so_ sorry. I was unbelievably horrible to you, and I . . . just with Jay and Chad and then you looking all . . . untidy, I . . . I put two and two together-"

"And came up with forty. Paige, you were way off base."

"I know that. I know. I leapt to conclusions, flew off the handle, the whole nine yards."

Alex's pupils penetrate the cerulean irises of the young woman sitting opposite her. "_Why_?"

"Because I-" Here Paige halts mid-sentence. She is on the verge of unveiling vulnerability, and her stomach is beginning to seep into her shoes. "Because I . . . like you too much."

_She almost said love,_ the brunette discerns, her insides dissolving into slush. Outwardly, she maintains an air of calm. "You're in good company then. I like you too much, too. But I don't understand why that's a bad thing. Paige, what are you so afraid of?"

"Of this. Of us . . . I have my whole future mapped out and when I made all those plans . . . you weren't really included. Matt was. Then you came into the picture, and . . . I guess I just didn't expect to-"

"There's room for you in my life. There should be room for me in yours," Alex rationalizes.

This elicits an awkward simper from Paige. "You're right. You're right. You're absolutely, one hundred percent right. And . . . fortunately, with a little help from my friends – well, friend singular. Marco kind of put things in perspective for me. Hazel, on the other hand . . . let's just say she wasn't in top form today."

_When is she ever?_ Alex wonders, but wisely refrains from verbalizing the sentiment.

Stretching her arm across the table, Paige's manicured digits incurvate, wrapping around her companion's hand. The gesture evokes the memory of the afternoon in which she, the more reluctant member of the couple, vocalized her affirmation that Alex meant "pretty much everything" to her. Paige gingerly strokes the girl's hand with her thumb then lifts the appendage, pressing her lips against the pads of Alex's fingers. "I hate myself right now," Paige admits, her voice scarcely above a whisper. "But you know what I really hate? I really hate me without you."

Unconsciously, one corner of Alex's mouth curls into a semi-smile.

"Will you forgive me?" the blonde implores, anticipation etched in her features. "Please?"

The teen's countenance resembles that of a helpless kitten. Alex will forgive her, but not so readily. "Contrary to popular opinion, I actually do have feelings, Paige. And you hurt them."

"I am really and truly sorry. What can I do to get back in your good graces?"

Alex cocks her raven-haired cranium to one side and tilts it towards the ceiling, pretending to be deep in contemplation. "Hmmmm . . ." she hums.

"Aside from groveling, of course."

"Groveling. Ah, the power of suggestion." _Now she'll go in for the save_, Alex predicts.

"No. That was not a suggestion. That was a . . . condition."

_Ooh, nice one_, _very impressive_, her companion concedes. Aloud, she replies, "Nope, sorry, no can do. Your only options are A) groveling, B) more groveling, C) still more groveling, and D) all of the above. So, what's it gonna be?"

"I believe the answer is D) all of the above."

"That would be correct." The bell rings, signifying the end of lunch period. "Mom and what's-his-face are going out later, so you can begin your punishment tonight," the brunette stipulates. "And I shall delight in every single minute of it."


	5. Let's Stay Together

Disclaimer: Oh why, oh why, can't _Degrassi_ be mine? Oh why, oh why, can't it be?

**Chapter Five**

Alex is in the process of applying smoky-gray eyeshadow to the lids of her umber irises when she hears the sound of knuckles on wood, announcing the arrival of her almost-formerly-ex-girlfriend.

"Knock, knock!" the guest chirps.

Finishing up the job, Alex sets the applicator brush onto the cracked porcelain of the sink and sprints into the living room. She performs a cursory inspection of the area; the domicile has never looked so immaculate. "Who's there?"

"Anita."

"Sorry," the girl on the other side of the door answers. "Don't know anyone by that name. You must have the wrong apartment."

"Alex!"

The smile on the brunette's face is indelible. "Anita who?"

"Anita give you a great big smooch, so open up right this instant!"

With an exaggerated scoff worthy of Paige's admiration, Alex grants the request, turning the lackluster metallic sphere and allowing the visitor to enter. "If being corny was a crime, you'd be locked up for life," she ribs.

"Would you visit me in prison?"

"When I had the time."

"You'd make the time," the blonde assures her.

The banal banter has an ameliorating effect; both desire nothing more than to expel yesterday's calamity from memory.

"Is that an order? Are you giving me orders, Paige? Let's not forget, you're still on probation."

"But I thought you liked it when I express my domineering side, Miss Parole Officer Person." The golden-haired girl twirls in a circle and taps Alex playfully on the tip of her nose.

"Domineering _side_. Okay, Paige, enlighten me. What other side is there?"

"Well, for starters, there's my backside."

Alex peers at Paige's posterior. "That's a good side to start with," she concludes.

The cheerleader steps further inside, eyes focused on the enticing pair of lips in front of her. "You look stunning, by the way. Very aesthetically pleasing," she remarks, expressing her appreciation for Alex's attire – a scoop-neck black top and mid-thigh-length jean skirt. The outfit is identical to the one she'd donned the evening of the premiere, the night that she and Paige shared their first kiss.

"You're pretty easy on the eyes yourself," the beneficiary of the compliment replies, bestowing on the teenager her approval for the clingy, baby pink camisole and swishy, satin skirt. To thank Alex for her flattery, Paige moves in to kiss her. But her companion decides to have a little fun with the invited guest.

As the glossy, painted mouth nears hers, Alex clamps a hand over the orifice, thwarting the gesture of affection. "Get on your knees," the dark-haired girl purrs. Adopting an inflection that is a hybrid of Betty Boop, Miss Piggy, and a Southern belle, she continues, "Get on your knees and say . . . 'I beg of you, O Merciful One, please take pity on this wretched, miserable soul'."

"Okay, your damsel in distress voice – very disturbing."

Alex tucks a curly, flaxen lock behind Paige's ear. "Do it," she coaxes. The throaty pitch of her voice transmits tremors along the visitor's spine. "Come on." Alex clutches Paige's waist, her lips entrapping the delicate skin of her earlobe.

In an instant, the guest is robbed of her ability to form a coherent thought, much less a sentence. "Alex . . ." Paige murmurs, her lashes quivering slightly, her heart embarking on a relentless _thump-thump_ inside her rib cage.

Slender fingers skim across the blonde's abdomen. "I'm wait-ing," her companion taunts.

_This girl has **way **too tight a hold on me. _Who but Alex Nuñez could deride and degrade the Queen of Degrassi with impunity? "Yes, ma'am," the royalty relents.

Alex releases the object of her affection and watches in glee as Paige Michalchuk lowers herself onto the carpet. "Oh, this is truly a Kodak moment."

But the girl on her knees is hardly amused. "Snap one picture and you can kiss that smooch good-bye. Got that . . . snickerdoodle?"

"Message received . . . pussycat."

Eyes in line with the brunette's midsection, Paige mutters in a voice completely devoid of enthusiasm, "I beg of you, O Merciful One, please take pity on this miserable, wretched soul."

"No, no," Alex disapproves. "Wretched first, _then_ miserable. Do it right. And put a little more . . . oomph into it, okay, hun?"

**

* * *

**

"But why didn't Jay snitch?" Paige inquires, referring to Captain Asshole's facial contusion courtesy of Alex the Avenger. She shifts positions, head nestled comfortably in her companion's lap.

Flipping off the dilapidated television set, the brunette responds with a shrug of the shoulders. She is still stewing over the fact that the impact was not great enough to affect any long-term damage, such as rendering Jay's jaw immobile so that he could never speak again. "'Cause he's scared shitless of me. And he knows that a freak in a body cast isn't exactly a skank magnet." At that, Paige titters. "Plus, he probably figured that if he ratted me out, there'd no be no chance in hell of us ever getting back together, as if that wasn't the case already."

"He is seriously delusional. Not to mention vastly icky and creepily stalker-ish."

"Did you know he has my name tattooed on his chest?"

Paige sits bolt upright, mouth agape in astonishment. "Are you serious?"

"Wish I wasn't. You want another soda?"

"I haven't finished the first one."

"It's probably flat by now," the hostess reasons. "I'll get you a fresh one."

"Okay, if it's not too much trouble."

"It is, but you're worth the effort."

The cheerleader feels her cheeks turn a lovely shade of scarlet as Alex stands and crosses to the kitchen. Retrieving the diet beverage, the only non-alcoholic drink on the premises, she pops the tab and hands it to Paige before rejoining the girl on the sofa.

"Merci beaucoup."

"De nada. So, did you patch things up with Hazel?"

"Not quite. That's on the agenda for tomorrow – tentatively," Paige replies, taking a sip of her drink. "I'm still miffed at her oh-so-brilliant comment that I was just going through some sort of experimental phase with you." As she speaks, her palm begins to glide along the bronzed skin of Alex's calf.

"Sounds like something Jay would say," the brunette notes, attempting to remain focused on the topic at hand and not on the scrumptiously sensuous tingles that Paige's touch is eliciting.

"Oh, but he did," the blonde informs her. "Let me see if I can remember his exact words . . . I believe he said that you were, quote, 'flirting with dykedom'. No, not flirting. Dabbling. 'Dabbling in dykedom'."

"'Dabbling in dykedom'?" her consort echoes, stupefied by the boy's irreversible idiocy.

"Oh, and he also claimed to have cured you," Paige continues.

"Of?"

"Of your lesbianism."

Peals of laughter erupt from the young woman at her side. "So that prick has a magic dick, huh?"

"Eww," the cheerleader grumbles, trembling in revulsion. "And what's with that word, lesbianism? It sounds like some sort of disgrossting, infectious disease."

"Or a religion," Alex offers. "Picture it – an entire congregation of dykes worshipping the almighty clitoris."

The blonde responds to the idea by spraying her diet soda all over the coffee table. "Alex!" she shrieks, swatting at her girlfriend's leg. "Look what you made me do!" Paige seizes the floral-printed paper square from the table, dabbing the lower half of her face with the napkin.

"You have to laugh when you're around me. You can't help it," the innocent party reminds her. "And for the record, Paige, it is oh-so-very cute when beverages come squirting out of your nose."

"Did you just say the word 'cute'?" her companion demands. "Preceded by 'oh-so-very'?"

It is now Alex's turn to imitate a maraschino cherry. "No idea what you're talking about, pussycat. You must be prone to random hallucinations."

"Awww. I seem to be rubbing off on you, snickerdoodle. So, what exactly is so oh-so-very-cute about the soda-spewing incident? Did it get you all hot and bothered?"

"Ohh, yeah, big time. Major turn-on. Yeah. Whoo, baby."

As a penalty for her taunting, the brunette receives another gentle slap on her thigh. Alex risks life and limb by reciprocating. But in an effort to circumvent the simulated catfight the duo will inevitably become embroiled in, she quickly presses her lips against the blonde's.

Every neuron, dendrite, and synapse crackles to life. When they separate several seconds later, the two sustain eye contact, suspending the conversation. Nearly five minutes of silence elapse.

Paige is the first to speak. "Am I . . . back in your good graces?" she inquires. In spite of the implicit reconciliation, the girl would prefer verbal validation.

The feelings of anger and umbrage have long since evaporated. Paige is the only individual in the teenager's life against whom Alex is incapable of holding a grudge. She has decided to grant the groveling girl a second chance. First, however, there remains one loose end: "How come when Jay confessed about what a lying piece of shit he is, you didn't seem all that surprised? Like you already figured it out or something. That I didn't sleep with Jay, I mean. Not about him being a lying piece of shit; that's pretty much a given."

"Yeah, I, um, I guess I didn't look all that surprised because . . . I wasn't," Paige avows, guilt resurfacing. "I think I kind of knew all along that you weren't unfaithful. Let's face it: why would you go back to some sperm-shooting man-slut when you have me?"

"Well, I guess I can't really argue with that logic," Alex chuckles. Then, soberly: "But you really need to work on this whole fear-of-the-unknown thing. Stop worrying so much and just . . . go with the flow."

"I admit, that fear is _somewhat _unreasonable."

"Yeah, you've got issues, pussycat," the raven-haired beauty jests, mouth upturned, twining stray strands of silky black hair behind her ear. "And to answer your question . . ." In expectance of Alex's decision, Paige inhales deeply, as though she is about to dive underwater. "Yeah. We're good."

Expelling the repressed breath from her lungs, the blonde's entire face illuminates. Her arms encircle her companion, embracing the girl with such gusto that she nearly knocks the wind out of Alex. "That being said," the brunette continues, observing as Paige's lower lip protrudes in a pout, "I can't - I'm _not _- gonna promise that I'll forgive you the next time you do something incredibly-" Fortunately, the word "stupid" lodges in her larynx, and instead she utters the slightly less degrading: "not smart."

The cheerleader opens her mouth to defend herself, but finds that there is only one thing to say: "Understood." Alex's lips make contact with her cheek. "Did the whole pleading-like-a-puppy thing have anything to do with my being pardoned?" Paige teases.

"Oh, yeah, that definitely helped you redeem yourself. I knew you were serious about being sorry when _you_ did _that_."

Paige leans in for an Eskimo kiss, nuzzling the bridge of her nose against the brunette's.

When the duo parts, Alex remarks, "Hey, remember the day after the premiere, when we were talking in the laneway, and you said you weren't a lesbian?" Her consort nods in the affirmative. "You were right. You're not a lesbian. You're a Lexian," the teenager states with authority.

"Lexian, huh?" The blonde pauses to consider the epithet. Deeming the appellation worthy of her consent, the cheerleader replies in a chipper voice, "There's a label I can live with."

"Lexian it is then," the term's creator officiates.

Trying it on for size, Paige extends her hand and introduces herself. "Hi, I'm Paige, lovely, luscious Lexian."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," Alex responds, her voice pompous in pitch. She edges closer to her companion, minimizing the distance between their bodies.

Palms and fingers contiguous, the couple exchange bashful glances and hushed giggles. Once more, tranquil silence envelopes the apartment. As the clock ticks away the seconds, the recurring need for Alex's touch becomes more overwhelming than ever before, and the ceaseless _thump-thump_ of Paige's heart resurfaces.

The palpitations, however, are not indicative of fear or trepidation. Much to her delight, the emotion coursing through her veins is an amalgam of elation, arousal, and anticipation.

The oceanic blue eyes stray towards the boudoir, sparkling with mischief. "So, um, I was thinking . . . maybe we could get . . . _better_ acquainted . . .?" The audacious blonde studies Alex through piercing cerulean irises, trying to gauge her reaction to the blatantly suggestive suggestion.

"Oh, so you think a little sex is gonna solve everything, huh?" the brunette queries.

"Of course not, silly." Paige produces a seraphic smile and loops her arm through her girlfriend's. Almost simultaneously, the two rise to their feet. "And I wasn't implying that we should have sex. I just thought that maybe we could . . . dabble."

"In dykedom?"

"In Lexianism."

"Eww, that sounds like some sort of disgrossting, infectious disease," Alex chaffs, mimicking the cheerleader.

The overnight guest broadens her pearly smile as she escorts her hostess to the bedroom. "I do hope it's incurable."

**End.**


End file.
